Golf in the Hail

I went to play golf yesterday. It was a 2-man ambrose competition which Fred had entered us in. It rained, heavily, the wind blew strongly, the temperature was hovering around single digit and we had two hail showers during the game. But we carried on, along with 41 other pairs, and finished the round. We didn’t win a prize but Fred won a meat pack in the raffle. Jenny stayed home all day with the heater on. She took this photo.

We went to Uncle Charlie’s funeral last Wednesday. Alice rang me in the morning and asked if I’d mind being an usher. I turned up half an hour before the scheduled start of the funeral only to find the church almost full. “What do you want me to do?” I asked Alice. “Forget it,” she replied.

There were approx 450 people there, according to the NZ Herald. I think that was a conservative estimate. Lots of soccer and golf people. Peter Clapshaw, Charlie’s lawyer and one of the founders of Simpson Grierson, the largest law firm in Auckland, gave the eulogy. The Catholic Monsignor who took the service (in a Presbyterian Church) spoke well, then the tributes went on for over an hour. Two grandchildren, Fred, Rodney Walshe who is the Irish Consul and close friend of Charlie’s, Ross Roberston on behalf of the Government, two FIFA delegates, the chairman of the NZFA, and John Adshead and Kevin Fallon all spoke.

There were lots of anecdotes about Charlie. Fred told one about the time Charlie was taking some footballers down to Tauranga for a game. Charlie was not the world’s best driver and after a hair-raising bit of cornering one of the players in the back seat said: “Charlie, do you keep any toilet paper in the car?”

Kevin Fallon told of going to Old Trafford and meeting Sir Alex Ferguson in the lift. “Where are you from?” he was asked. “New Zealand,” Fallon replied. “Do you know Charlie Dempsey?” Ferguson said.

Jenny dressed up for the occasion.

The after-service tea at the church was a good time to catch up with lots of people. There was Guinness if you wanted, courtesy of the Irish Consul, despite the disapproval of the Presbyterian lady in charge.

We picked up my mother and went back to the house later. Her friend Vera spent quite of bit of time with her at Grace Joel as we didn’t think mum could sit through the service. It was just the relatives at the Dempseys and mum is good for Aunt Annie. She is one of the few people Annie still recognises and she and mum sit together and chat away.

It rained, as it usually does at funerals. I forgot to wash my car before going. All in all it was a great tribute and send-off to Charlie. He was a good man. None better, as Rodney Walshe said.

Just Another Serial Part III

Spent a lovely day at Pt Wells on Saturday. We took Les and picked up Lynne at Orewa on the way. Did the Matakana Markets, saw a couple of books by James George in the book shop ($39.95 ea, didn’t buy) and went into a quirky stationery shop Kerryn would love, didn’t buy anything there either. Had a coffee then a short stop at Simply Stitches before going on to Pt Wells and having lunch with the Martens.

The Three Stooges

Jenny, Les, John and I went for a walk round the block. Had afternoon tea and a bit of a laze. John and I went over to the bowling club for happy hour then back to the house for a roast beef dinner. We left just as the England/All Blacks game started. Dropped Lynne off in time for her to see the second half and we arrived home to witness the last 5 mins of the game.

A lovely day was had by all.

Jenny and I are going to the ‘Finale Night’ (their wording, not mine) of the First Chapters programme on Wednesday. I’ve volunteered to read an excerpt from my writing if needed (they only want 3 volunteers). There’s going to be free tea, coffee and cake.

Now the rest of the Just Another Statistic story.

Mark had a visit from two police officers later that night.

“Mark Thomson?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Detective Cornell and this is Detective McGregor. May we have a word?”

“Sure, come in. Have you any news of Sandra?”

“I’m sorry, we haven’t been able to locate Miss James, but we’re checking up on her movements. Now, when was the last time you saw her?”

“I’ve told the police this before. It was Tuesday morning when she left for work,” Mark said.

“And you’ve had no contact with her since? No phone calls or text messages?”

“No, nothing.”

“Any messages on your answerphone?”

“None from her, but one for her from a friend that evening.”

“Do you still have it?” the detective asked.

“Yes. Do you want to listen to it?”

“Yes please.”

So Mark played it over to them. They asked him to play it again.

“So, who is this Millie person?”

“She’s on the list of friends we wrote down at the station when we reported her missing.”

Mark was starting to become a little annoyed. He thought the detectives would have had this information.

“We don’t have that list with us. Now, if you wouldn’t mind…”

Mark told them her full name, address and phone number.

The detectives then asked Mark about Sandra’s other friends and where she worked etc. They asked him if Sandra had been worried about anything recently. Any mood changes, illness or unusual behaviour.

Then Detective McGregor spoke for the first time:

“I believe you and she had a fight before she left for work that morning.”

“Who told you that?”

The detectives didn’t answer, just waited for Mark to continue.

“We had a slight disagreement. We often have disagreements. They blow over.”

“What was this disagreement about?” McGregor asked, with the emphasis on disagreement.

“She wanted me to take her to the pub to listen to a band. I said no. I’m preparing to do my first triathlon and I didn’t want to break my training routine,” said Mark.

“Which band and what pub?”

“Raging Bulls at the Crown & Anchor.”

“I don’t blame you for not wanting to go to hear them,” said Cornell. McGregor gave him a dirty look.

“Now,” McGregor again, “what did you do after she left for work?”

So Mark told them about his day. They kept interrupting him with questions like “What time was that?” “Did anyone see you?” or “Did you see anyone you knew?”

They asked him to go over it all again “just in case you’ve forgotten some little incident or event that may be important.”

The two detectives took copious notes. They thanked him for his time and got up to leave.

“One last thing,” McGregor turned and asked as he reached the door, “how would you describe your relationship with Sandra?”

Mark was shaken by the question. He tried to control the anger in his voice. “Fine. We got on well. I was hoping we’d get married one day.”

“Despite your disagreements?” the emphasis strongly on the last word again.

These bastards think I’ve had something to do with Sandra’s disappearance, he realised.

“We have different interests. We have disagreements over sport, books, films, music and just about any other subject you care to mention. Lots of couples do. That’s what makes the relationship interesting. Haven’t you heard opposites attract?”

The detectives nodded, ignoring Mark’s sarcasm.

“Thank you Mr Thomson. We may need to interview you again. You’re not thinking of going away or anything?”

“No, I’m not going anywhere. If you do come back, don’t forget to bring your notes with you. I don’t want to have to keep repeating myself.”

“We’re doing our best to find Miss James. Thank you for your time,” Cornell said.

Mark closed the door, angry with himself for losing his cool with the detectives. But, on reflection he considered that’s what they probably set out to get him to do. See how he would react.

. . .

“What do you think Mac?” Detective Dave Cornell asked his partner as they drove away from Mark’s flat.

“Don’t know. He seems a nice guy. Not the type to do away with his girlfriend. But he was on his own for hours that day and nobody can verify where he was. We’ll keep an open mind.”

“Yeah, I’m with you. He seemed honest enough, but then again he might be very clever.”

“Where to now Dave?” Detective Mac McGregor asked.

“Let’s go and see her employers, Mr and Mrs Davis, see what they have to say.”

Jane Davis showed the detectives into the lounge.

“This is my husband Ted,” she said. “Ted, these are two policemen come to ask us about Sandra.”

“Any news about her?” asked Ted as he directed them towards the couch.

“No, nothing yet I’m sorry to say,” McGregor answered.

“Would you gentlemen like a cup of tea or coffee?” asked Jane.

“Thank you. Tea with milk, no sugar,” Cornell said.

Jane left to make the teas and the detectives turned to Ted.

“Mr Davis, can you recall Miss James’ state of mind on Tuesday, the day she disappeared? Was there any difference to her normal behaviour?” McGregor asked.

“Yes, I can. She was her normal self. I spent a considerable amount of time with her that day. We discussed an upcoming promotion. She seemed excited and was full of ideas. It has come as such a shock to us that she should disappear. Have you any idea what has happened to her?”

“We’re keeping an open mind. Now can you tell me what time she left work on the day in question?”

“Yes, we close the shop at 5.30. She left about 20 minutes later,” Ted said.

“And how does she travel to and from work?” McGregor asked.

“Normally she catches the bus, but she told me she was meeting a friend at a café in town then going on to a concert. I presumed she’d just walk there.”

Jane came in with the tea and a plate of chocolate biscuits. Once the cups had been distributed and plate of biscuits handed around McGregor carried on with the questioning.

“And what time did you two leave?” he asked.

“Well, we come in separate cars on Tuesdays. Ted has a regular meeting with clients after work on that day and I decided I’d better catch up on the book work,” volunteered Jane.

“So, what time did you leave?”

“Ted left about the same time as Sandra. I stayed on for a while and left at about 6.15 or thereabouts.”

“And did either of you see Sandra again.”

“Not me,” said Ted.

“No,” said Jane shaking her head.

“Who was your meeting with, Mr Davis?” Cornell enquired.

“Oh, just some suppliers and reps. It’s a very informal gathering. A few drinks after work, you know, that sort of thing.”

Mac was watching Mrs Davis while Dave was questioning Ted.

“Tell you what, Mr Davis, why don’t you write down a list of people who were with you, when you get a quiet moment, and drop in into the station with it sometime tomorrow,” McGregor said.

“Yes, ok, I’ll do that,” Ted replied.

“Round about 10 o’clock say. Tell the person on the desk you want to see Detective Cornell or McGregor.”

“Fine, no problem,” said Ted.

“And you, Mrs Davis, what did you do after you left work?” asked Cornell.

“Me? Nothing much. I was supposed to go to a meeting, but it started at six and as I was running late thought I’d give it a miss. I came straight home.”

“Did you go out again?”

“No. I cooked dinner. Ate mine and put Ted’s in the fridge. He had his when he came home just after eight o’clock. We both read till about 10.30 then went to bed. Not very exciting lives we lead, I’m afraid.”

“You didn’t pass or see Sandra James on your drive home by any chance did you?”

“No.”

“Well, I think that’s all for now. Thank you very much for your time,” said McGregor.

The two detectives left. When they were in the car Dave asked Mac what was that all about getting Ted Davis to drop by tomorrow.

“I wanted to question him on his own. Better down at the station. Wherever he was that night he didn’t want his wife to know. She knew he was lying. There’s something odd about him. Her too. Funny couple.”

Jane Davis turned to her husband after she closed the door behind the detectives.

“Well, are you going to tell them who you were with that night?” she asked.

“Of course. I’ve nothing to hide. I’ll give them a list of the people I was with,” he said.

She noticed he had his back to her when he spoke.

“That’s good. We have to be honest with the police,” she said.

. . .

The two detectives’ last call was to Sandra’s parents. It was more of a public relation visit to keep them up to date with the enquiry into their daughter’s disappearance. Not that they had much to report, but it would let them know they were taking it seriously. The parents are seldom, if ever, considered suspects in cases like this, but they had to ask them about their movements the day of the disappearance. Nothing unusual occurred.

Mrs James had played golf in the morning and went to the local shops in the afternoon. Mr James was at work all day and went to his Rotary Club meeting in the evening. They said they hadn’t seen or heard from Sandra for about a week.

They asked them about Mark. What they thought of him as a person and the fact that he was living with their daughter. Both Bob and Norma said they were delighted Sandra had met as nice a young man as Mark. They were hoping the two would get married.

Ted Davis turned up at the police station at exactly 10 o’clock. Detective Dave Cornell came to the front and invited Ted into an interview room.

“Do you have that list with you?” Ted was asked.

Ted handed over a list of names, the names of the companies they worked for and phone numbers.

“Thank you, I’ll just have someone check this. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?”

“Yes, thank you, black coffee, one sugar,” said Ted.

A policewoman brought him his coffee and stayed in the room with him. He had about a half hour wait before Detectives Dave Cornell and Mac McGregor came into the room. The policewoman left.

“Sorry to keep you waiting Mr Davis. We’ve checked with the people on the list and they’ve verified you were with them that night. Regular weekly get-together I gather,” said Detective Cornell.

“Yes, we’re in the same industry and it’s an informal networking group. We’ve been doing it for a few years now.”

“That’s great. There’s just one little thing I’d like you to clarify if you would.”

“Oh, what’s that?” Ted said.

“All of your friends said you arrived late, at about 7.45, and only stayed for one quick drink then left. They also said you seemed distracted, unusually hyper and nervous. Can you tell us where you were from the time you left work before six and 7.45 and why you were in the state you were?”

The colour drained from Ted’s face.

“I . . . er . . . I can’t remember. What night was it again?”

“Come on Mr Davis. You know what night. One of your friends even thought you looked as if you’d been doing some heavy physical work.”

Ted sat quietly looking down. The detectives waited. Five minutes passed without a word being said.

“I’d like my lawyer present,” Ted eventually said.

“That can be arranged, but it would be quicker if you just told us the truth and get it off your chest. We’re going to find out eventually.”

“I’m saying nothing till I have a lawyer present,” Ted said.

“OK. Do you have your own lawyer or do you want us to find one for you?” asked McGregor.

“If I tell you can you guarantee no-one else, especially my wife, will get to hear of it?”

“Is Sandra James involved?”

“Sandra? Good God no. I’d nothing to do with her disappearance.”

“Well, you tell us where you were and who you were with and, if it checks out, it will stay in this room. If you insist on your lawyer being present I can’t guarantee it won’t be on the front page of all the newspapers tomorrow.”

That was exaggerating a bit, but it worked. Ted told them where he had been. It checked out. They let him go.

“Told you there was something funny about him,” Mac said to Dave after Ted Davis had left.

“Kinky. The things some people do for relaxation. No wonder he didn’t want his wife to know,” said Dave.

“I think she does know,” Mac replied.

. . .

The investigation continued for months but gradually wound down. The extra police returned to Wellington. The file went into the unsolved mysteries category, not forgotten but not active.

Mark resigned his job and returned to Auckland. He started training again for what would be his first triathlon.

Bob James took early retirement and he and Norma sold their house and moved down to the Kapiti Coast. They had both aged 10 years in the past six months.

Ted and Jane Davis carried on their usual marital and business life. They had a new person doing Sandra’s job.

“How’s the new girl working out?” Jane asked Ted one night after dinner.

“Very well. I think she’s going to be a real asset,” Ted replied.

“Well, so long as you don’t get too close to her. I might get jealous and that would never do, would it,” she joked.

“No dear, no worries in that department.”

They went back to their reading.

Later when they were having a nightcap Ted looked at Jane and said “What say we go out to dinner tomorrow night, just you and me. We haven’t done that for ages. Make a nice change.”

“What a lovely idea,” said Jane, “but not tomorrow, let’s make it Wednesday. You go to your meeting with your friends and, don’t forget, tomorrow’s the night I go to my Rotary club.”

. . .

Postscript: Eighteen months after the disappearance of Sandra James two trampers were walking in a native bush reserve on the outskirts of Palmerston North when they came across what looked like human bones. They informed the police and their suspicions were confirmed. More searches in the area uncovered another human skeleton in a shallow grave close by. Pathology examinations confirmed they were the remains of two young women.

Just Another Serial Part 2

Continuing on the story of Mark and his disappearing girlfriend Sandra. Mark, by the way, is the brother of Jack who lives in Sydney with a boarder Sharlene and her son Joshua. Now read on…

Mark ran through the dark streets and after an hour or so the drizzle turned to heavy rain. He didn’t mind. But the day’s swimming and cycling started to take its toll and he began to find it hard going.

He arrived back at the flat exhausted and drenched. No Sandra. She must have gone to the pub that band she likes was playing at. He dried off, put his wet clothing in the laundry basket and put on a track suit. He brewed up some coffee and sat down to wait for Sandra’s return.

Midnight arrived and still Sandra hadn’t come home.

She must be staying the night at a friend’s place, Mark thought. Probably doing it to get back at me. Then he remembered the answerphone. Perhaps she left a message. He checked. There was one missed call, but it was from Millie Green.

“Where are you Sandra? I’m sitting here waiting. Your cellphone is switched off. If you get this give me a call.”

So, she was meeting Millie. She’s likely staying at her flat tonight. That’s fine by me. Mark went to bed.

. . .

Jane Davis looked over the top of the book she was reading at her husband Ted. She thought how relaxed and calm he looked. She felt their marriage was a good marriage. Not too many couples can live and work together, they were constantly told. But she found it the most natural thing. They were fulfilled in each other’s company.

Ted had appetites that Jane couldn’t satisfy. She looked on them as character detours. She knew about them but Ted wasn’t sure if she knew or not. But he always came back on track and was extra nice and thoughtful to her when he did. She knew he would never contemplate leaving her. Jane’s tacit acceptance of his behaviour was enough of a threat of what would happen if he ever created a scandal.

It was unfortunate they couldn’t have any children of their own. When they adopted little Rachel, after years of disappointments, it was a real blessing. She had had a troubled upbringing, in and out of foster homes before her parents abandoned her completely. Rachel was seven by the time she was put up for adoption. Jane and Ted adored her. Ted especially. He took her to netball and tennis, supervised her homework and went to the parent teacher interviews. He was the perfect father. Jane even became a little jealous of their relationship. Silly really, she thought.

Rachel grew into a very attractive young lady. When she was 16 things changed drastically. She became sullen and secretive. She showed no interest in continuing her studies, wasn’t interested in working in the shop, and started going out with a rough crowd.

Ted tried everything to help her, but nothing he did or said made any difference. She left home and went to live with a tattooed gang member with a prison record. He was more than twice her age. Ted was devastated.

Then she disappeared. They tried to find her. Went to the police and when that didn’t get results, tried the Salvation Army. In the end, they acknowledged that she didn’t want them to find her. All they could do was hope she would come to her senses and get in touch. After a year they gave up. Her name was never mentioned in their house again.

A few years ago Sandra started working at the shop. Nothing was said, but Jane knew Ted thought she was what he was hoping Rachel would turn out to be. Clever, reliable, attractive and interested in books and the bookshop. Since Sandra started working fulltime Jane couldn’t help but notice that Ted began organising his work so that he could spend time with her.

“She’s so knowledgeable and full of great ideas,” Ted told Jane one night, “I think we’ve found someone to take over when it comes time for us to retire.”

Jane just smiled.

. . .

Sandra didn’t come home that night. Mark thought she was overdoing the sulk, if that was what it was. He went to work on his bike as per usual and rang the bookshop when he stopped for a coffee mid-morning.

“Jane Davis speaking.”

“Hi, it’s Mark Thomson here. Could I speak to Sandra please.”

“She hasn’t come in this morning. I was about to ring you to find out if there was something wrong with her.”

“Not that I know of. She went out with a girlfriend last night and didn’t come home. I assumed she’d stayed the night at her girlfriend’s place.”

“That’s strange. She’s usually so reliable. Opens up the shop every morning. Ted and I arrived to find the staff waiting outside, a pile of newspapers and magazines stacked against the front door getting wet.”

“I’ll ring around and try to find where she is. I’ll get back to you.”

“Thank you.”

“Would you mind getting her to ring me if she turns up?” Mark asked.

“Of course. ‘Bye Mark.”

That’s a worry, he thought.

He rang Millie at her place to see if Sandra was there. No answer. He knew where Millie worked so looked up the number in the phone book. Millie came to the phone. She was not happy.

“She suggested we meet, then she didn’t turn up. She’s got a lot of explaining to do,” Millie complained.

Mark told her that Sandra didn’t come home last night and hadn’t turned up to work today.

“Oh, hope nothing’s happened to her.”

“Thanks for your time anyway. I’ll get her to ring you when I find out where she is.”

He tried two more of her friends, but they hadn’t seen or heard from her for weeks. That only leaves her parents, Mark decided.

Mark got on quite well with Sandra’s mum and dad. They were a nice couple. He hoped she was with them.

“Hi, it’s Mark here. How are you?” he asked Sandra’s mum Norma when she answered.

“Mark, how nice to hear from you. Have you rung to say you and Sandra have some good news for us?” she joked.

“Not today, I’m afraid. But one day soon, maybe. No. I’m actually ringing to see if Sandra is with you.”

“No, why would she be?”

Mark explained about Sandra’s non-appearance for the date with Millie, her not coming home last night and not being at work.

“Oh, I hope nothing has happened to her. Bob’s at work, but I’ll ring and ask him if he’s seen or heard from her then get back to you.”

Mark couldn’t concentrate on his work and at lunch time went home. Sandra wasn’t there. He rang her work again but she hadn’t turned up. Mark then rang the hospital but no-one of her name or description had been admitted in the last 24 hours.

He rang her parents again and her dad answered this time.

“No, I haven’t talked to or seen Sandra for over a week,” said Bob.

“I think I’ll go to the police then,” said Mark.

“Have you tried the hospital?” Bob asked.

“Yes. Nothing there.”

“Hold on. I’ll come and pick you up. We’ll go to the police together.”

. . .

The police officer on the front desk was very efficient and helpful. She took Sandra’s particulars, asked when she was last seen, where she was supposed to meet her friend Millie, the names of her friends and where she worked. She also asked if she could have a recent photo of her. Luckily Mark kept a snap of Sandra in his wallet which he handed over.

“We’ll be in touch when we have any news,” she said.

Mark and Bob walked out of the police station into a rainy afternoon. The weather reflected their mood.

“Well, there’s not much we can do now but wait,” said Mark.

“I’m not going to sit idly waiting for a phone call,” Bob remarked. “I can drive round all her old haunts and visit anyone who knows her and ask if they’ve seen her.”

There was a tremble in his voice.

“We can’t think the worst. It’s early days. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation. Sandra and I had words before she went out yesterday morning. She’s probably playing a practical joke to get back at me,” Mark said, trying to be positive, but he was beginning to think something was seriously wrong.

Bob took Mark back to his place and, along with Norma, they worked out a plan. They rang everyone who knew Sandra, asked them if they’d seen her recently, but came up with nothing. They wrote down all the places Sandra liked to visit or held a special place for her in case she’d had a fall and injured herself. Anything. The three of them visited all those places, but no sign or clues. They were clutching at straws.

The next evening, with still no sightings or clues as to her whereabouts, there was a news item on the TV asking if anyone had seen her to get in touch with the Palmerston North Police or her parents. The picture Mark gave to the police was blown up to fill the TV screen.

Nothing. No information was called in to the police or to the James family.

The following night’s TV news had an interview with a detective saying the police think there might have been foul play and asking the public’s help with any sightings. They showed a street map with the route Sandra would have taken from the shop to the café where she was to meet Millie.

Twelve policemen were sent up from Wellington to help the local force in the enquiry.

. . .

Just Another Serial

This is another story wot I rote. I’ll do it in serial form as it’s a bit long for one blog. As before, comments welcomed.

Just Another Statistic

By Chick Dubber

Mark got back to the flat after his morning swimming session at 7.30. He was quite pleased with himself as he felt he was improving in what he considered his weakest discipline, although he realised that swimming in the sea among 40 or 50 other competitors would be a lot different from lane swimming at the local pool.

Sandra was in the shower, so he made himself breakfast by pouring some cereal and milk into a bowl, filling a tumbler with his special fruit juice concoction and putting the jug on for coffee later.

Sandra came into the kitchen just as he was finishing his coffee.

“You had breakfast?” he asked her.

“Yep. Off to work now.”

“Have a nice one,” he said.

“You got much on today?” she asked.

“No, it should be quiet today. I thought I’d put some miles on my bike this afternoon then do some running later tonight. Why, what about you?”

“This training is getting a bit much, don’t you think?”

“You know how it is, I have to put the time in. A triathlon isn’t exactly a walk in the park you know. If I don’t get fit, there’s no point in doing it.”

“Is there a point in doing it?” she asked sarcastically.

“We’ve been through all this before. You knew it would be time consuming when I decided to enter.”

“I didn’t realise it was going to take up all your spare time. When are you going to have time for me?”

“Please don’t do this to me Sandra. I work in the sports field, you know that. This will not only be good for me fitness-wise, but will be something to put on my CV. I’ve started training for it, and I’m going to see it through. The triathlon is a week on Saturday. After that things will get back to normal.”

“I work in the book trade. I don’t hide myself away reading books and ignore you when you want us to do something together. Couldn’t you just skip training for one night. Raging Bulls are playing at a pub in town tonight and you know they’re my favourite band. Please.”

“No. I’ll make it up to you later, after I’ve done the triathlon,” he said.

“Maybe I’ll find someone else to go with then,” she replied as she went out the door, slamming it behind her.

“That’s spoilt what was a good start to my day,” Mark muttered to himself.

Later, as he cycled to work, he thought back on his conversation with Sandra. She’ll get over it, he was sure.

They met at university in an English class. She because that was her passion, the English language and literature; he because he needed the papers to get into the Sports Psychology course he was really interested in. This hadn’t been their first disagreement. Their first few dates they spent arguing. Then they found out they had lots in common and their different interests just added to their mutual attraction.

They graduated the same year. She was a Palmerston North girl and had worked part-time since high school at Ted and Jane Davis’ bookstore. She was offered the position of buyer and office manager on graduation. Mark was an Auckland boy but managed to find employment with Sport Manawatu. They found a flat and moved in together. That was over a year ago.

. . .

Mark spent the morning in the office catching up on paper work and making a few phone calls to set up meetings. His job was results orientated and quite a bit of it was PR. The more successful he was, the more publicity he garnered, and the more interest and sponsorship he attracted. He had no specified work hours but was expected to be around at weekends when sports were generally played.

After a quick lunch in the office canteen, he went off on a long bike ride. The triathlon cycling leg was 50km long, so he tried to do more than 50km in training then when race day came he knew he could do the distance. He cycled out of town east towards the Manawatu Gorge which, although narrow, winding and rough in places, was also quite scenic. He found that was good for his concentration. A moment’s inattention and he’d end up in the river.

He arrived home at about 5.30pm. Sandra didn’t normally arrive home till about six, so he had a leisurely shower, changed and then prepared a salad and marinated a couple of steaks in readiness for dinner that evening. He hoped Sandra had forgotten about their little tiff that morning.

Mark got his iPod out and put his earphones on and lay on the couch waiting for Sandra to come home. The long cycle ride took its toll and he dozed off. He woke with a start and realised it was dark. He looked at his watch. It was 7.35.

“Sandra, are you there,” he called out.

No response.

He got up, put on the light and drew the blinds. He looked in the fridge. Dinner still there untouched. He went into their bedroom. Nothing.

“What can be keeping her?” he thought. “She’s never been this late without ringing me.”

Maybe she did ring and I slept through it, he thought. He checked the answerphone. No messages.

“Bugger her. She must have gone straight to the pub to hear that bloody awful band she likes. Well, see if I care.”

Mark changed into his running gear, made a sandwich and ate it, filled his water bottle and grabbed two bananas. He closed up the flat and started off on a two hour run.

. . .

Sandra arrived at work that morning in a foul mood. She was angry with herself for fighting with Mark. He was getting obsessive about training for the triathlon but that was not the way to get him to have a night off and spend it with her. She did love him and she knew she should have used more subtle ways to get him see things her way. Make him think it was his idea. Isn’t that what women are supposed to be good at?

The day went reasonably well. It was NZ Book Month and she arranged the window display to support the initiative. C.K. Stead had a new book out which had international critics writing good reviews. That took centre stage. A re-print of a NZ poetry book had just been released and, alongside a couple of Maurice Gee novels and a few non-fiction coffee table tomes, was placed the Edmonds Cook Book. The buzzy bee of NZ literature Sandra called it.

She had a meeting with Ted Davis about an upcoming promotion. Normally he kept pretty much to himself and let his wife Jane do the day to day running of the shop, but lately he had become more hands on and frequently asked for Sandra’s advice on things.

They discussed the fact that the Alexander McColl Smith books were being made into a television series and there was talk of a movie too. Perhaps they should stockpile copies to capitalise on the publicity that would generate. Maybe even get some posters on Botswana and South Africa from the respective consulates.

At 5.30 she closed the front door of the shop and rang her friend Millie Green.

“Hi, Sandra here,” she said when Millie answered. “Got anything on tonight?”

“Sandra, nice to hear from you. No, nothing special. Why, what do you have in mind?” Millie asked.

“Well, Raging Bulls are on at the Crown & Anchor and Mark’s busy and I don’t fancy going on my own.”

“Yeah, I’d love to go with you. How about meeting somewhere for a bite to eat and catch up first?”

They arranged a place to meet. Sandra considered ringing Mark and telling him of her plans but then thought no, bugger it, let him worry about her for a change. Might do him some good.

She was walking along to her rendezvous with Millie when a car pulled up by the kerb. The passenger window slid down. Sandra looked at the car.

“This is a bit out of your way,” said the driver.

“Oh, hi, it’s you,” Sandra said. “I’m off to meet a friend in town.”

“It looks like it might rain soon. Hop in and I’ll drive you there.”

“Are you sure, it’s not the way you’d normally go.”

“No, but I’ve got a Rotary club meeting over this way.”

“Thanks,” said Sandra as she got into the car.

. . .

The Debating Competition

My last blog was about the school dance. This excerpt precedes that part and takes up about one-third of the story. I’d like feedback, even if it’s just to tell me it’s a load of rubbish.

THE COMPETITION

David was a little disheartened to be named reserve for the first round. Tracy was kept on as captain. It was against a private boys’ school and the debate was held in the opposition’s assembly hall. The place was packed with pupils of the school, all in their uniform. David sat between Mr Churton and Tracy’s mother at the front of the hall.

“The audience will be against us,” David said to Mr Churton.

“Don’t worry. The judges are neutral,” he replied.

All the same, the opposition were greeted on to the stage with wild enthusiasm and the school haka. Bledisloe entered to polite clapping from their few supporters.

David thought the debate went horribly for their team. The opposition speakers got rapturous applause, cheering and loud laughter every time they said something remotely funny, and that was fairly frequent. Bledisloe’s speakers were met with silence and, if they did make a humourous aside, greeted with loud groans of dismay from the audience.

“I think we’ve lost,” David said to Mrs Smith when it finished and the judges were conferring.

“Do you think so,” she replied. “What do you think Mr Churton?” she said leaning across David.

“There was not a lot of substance in their arguments. I think we did better, but I’m not the judge.”

The head adjudicator walked on the stage to announce the winner. After the usual congratulations to all the contestants, thanks to the host school (cheering) and the enthusiasm of the audience (more cheering) she announced the winner, by a unanimous decision, Bledisloe.

“Yeah!” David yelled and jumped up, then quickly sat down again, feeling a bit silly.

There were murmurings from the audience. They were obviously not happy.

Tracy walked up to the microphone and gave a concise and generous thank you speech.

“We can still thrash you at rugby,” some wag yelled out. Lots of laughter and everyone left the hall reasonably happy.

. . .

The team was on a high at the next debating club meeting, but Mr Churton soon had them back to earth.

“Our next challenge is against the school which finished runner-up last year. They have a completely new team but I know their teacher and he’ll have them well prepared. The topic is ‘Global Warming – fact or fantasy’. We’re fact. Get studying. We’ll have another meeting Friday lunchtime and go over our tactics. I’ll announce who will be in the team then.”

The Friday meeting went well. A lot of research was discussed and then Mr Churton dropped a minor bombshell by saying that Tina Wong would be the reserve. Both David and Jocelyn had assumed it would be one of them.

Stunned silence greeted the announcement. Mr Churton realised the surprise he’d caused. “You’ve done nothing wrong Tina. I’ve watched the opposition and I know they had their spies at our last debate. It’s a case of putting in a team that will surprise and, I hope, beat them. I’ve already informed Tracy that Raymond will captain the team.”

Mr Churton obviously knew what he was doing as they won, albeit by a split decision. Now the team were really on a high. They were in the final.

At the weekly club meeting Mr Churton talked about the topic, ‘Should the Government fund the arts’. This was what was going to be debated in the final. Bledisloe was the positive.

“We’re up against the school which has won this competition for the last two years, and three of last year’s team are still there. They have a lot more experience, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to beat us. We can be better prepared than them. It’s up to us. Now let’s get to work,” he said.

“Who’s to be the reserve this time?” asked Jocelyn.

“I’m not going to announce that till the day of the final. I want all five of you ready to go if selected. The only decision I’ve made is that Tracy will be captain. You did a sterling job last time Raymond, but this is different opposition.”

. . .

The final was being held in the old town hall on a Wednesday night. David’s family decided to come for the first time.

“I might not even be in the team,” he said.

“But if you are, we want to be there. We’re very proud of how well you’ve done so far. There’s no way we’re going to miss the final,” said his mother.

“I don’t want to go,” said Debbie. “Why can’t I stay home and do my homework?”

“You’re coming,” said her father. “There’s no way we’re leaving you home on your own. God knows what you’ll get up to.”

“But it’s raining,” complained Debbie.

Luckily they left early as they had to do a detour round an accident on the way.

. . .

Jocelyn arrived accompanied by her mother.

Tina and Raymond also brought family members with them for the first time.

. . .

Tracy was picked up by her mother from school.

“We’re going to my hairdresser for a set and blow wave,” Marie told Tracy.

“I don’t need to go to the hairdresser. I’d rather go home and get prepared and be ready with plenty of time to spare,” Tracy said.

“It won’t take long. You’re the captain, I want you to look your best. After the hairdresser we’ll go home and have a quick bite to eat and pick up your dad.”

Tracy was not happy, but it was hard to argue with her mother.

“I wish you wouldn’t drive so fast,” she said.

Those were the last words Tracy would utter that day.

. . .

The team, minus Tracy, met at the side of the stage.

“The debate is being put back half an hour. There’s been a bad accident and some people are caught up in the traffic. David I’m afraid you’re the reserve.” Mr Churton said.

“That’s ok. I had a feeling I would be,” David answered. “Good luck guys.”

Raymond shook his hand and Jocelyn and Tina gave him a hug.

“We’ll win it for you,” said Tina.

David moved back to the auditorium to sit with his family.

“What’s the matter?” his mother asked.

“I’m the reserve,” David answered.

“Can we go home then?” asked Debbie.

“No, we’re here and we’re staying. It’s still David’s team,” replied her mother.

David felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned round to see Leanne sitting there.

“Hi, I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said.

“I had to come. It’s the final. Aren’t you speaking tonight?” she said.

“No, I’m the weakest link obviously.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Still you helped them get this far.”

“Yeah, well, I suppose you’ve got to put the top team out in the final.”

“To change the subject, are you doing any sports this term now that cricket has finished?” Leanne asked.

“I’ll probably try out for the basketball team again, not that I hold out much hope,” he replied.

“What will you do if you don’t make the team?”

“Nothing.”

“Why don’t you come to dancing with me?”

“I’m not very good,” he said.

“Not yet, but you could be,” Leanne said.

His mother tugged his sleeve and whispered, “David, that man over there is trying to attract your attention.”

“That’s Mr Churton, I wonder what he wants.”

David left his seat and went over to see him.

“David, I’ve just heard, that accident, Tracy was involved. She was taken away in an ambulance.”

“That’s dreadful,” David said. “Is she going to be okay?”

“I don’t know. We’ll just have to hope. I’m sorry to bring it up at a time like this, but you’ll have to go on. Raymond is now captain, you’ll speak at number three. Are you ready?” Mr Churton asked.

“As ready as I can be. How are the others taking it?”

“As well as can be expected. Do your best.”

David walked on to the stage and the debate started.

. . .

There was a dark cloud of gloom over the school the next day. The talk was all about Tracy and the headmaster made an announcement over the intercom at 2pm that Tracy was going to be okay. She had a broken leg and internal trauma, but no permanent injury.

Mr Churton took the four debating team members in his car to the hospital after school. He had rung the newspaper office and a photographer and reporter met them outside the ward. They had their picture taken round the bed with Tracy proudly holding the Inter-schools Debating Trophy.

The School Ball

This is the final bit in my latest literary effort. The story is mainly about a school debating competition but there is a sub-plot concerning the school ball. I finished the story with this bit. Let me know what you think.

THE SCHOOL BALL

The evening after the team had been to hear Jocelyn’s uncle talk about his Antarctic experience David had a phone call.

“Hello,” he said.

“David, it’s me, Jocelyn.”

“Hi, how are you?”

“Are you going to ask me to go to the school ball with you?”

“Er, yes, I was…

“Good. I accept.”

She hung up.

“Who was that?” asked Debbie.

“I think I’m going to the school ball with Jocelyn,” he said.

“About time too. How long were you going to keep her waiting. Really, you boys, you’re so clueless,” she said.

. . .

Claire Skelton drove her son David to the Williams’ house to pick up Jocelyn. They both got out the car.

“You don’t have to come,” said David. “I’m just picking her up. She said she’d be ready.”

His mother just gave him a pitying look.

Mrs Williams answered the door and asked them in.

David introduced his mother to her.

“Claire,” said Claire.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Julia,” said Jocelyn’s mother.

They were shown into the lounge. There were two men sitting with a can of beer in their hands watching TV.

“This is Joe, Jocelyn’s dad, and Joseph, her brother,” Mrs Williams said.

The two men raised their cans of beer into the air but didn’t turn round.

“Jocelyn’s just about ready. Make yourself at home David. Claire, would you like to come through to see Jocelyn’s dress?” Mrs Williams asked.

The two mothers disappeared down the passageway. David stood not knowing what to do.

“There’s a can of beer in the fridge and grab a pew,” said Joe.

“No thanks,” said David. “I’m fine.”

The two men just kept watching the TV.

“Must be a bit awkward at times with the mail,” said David trying to be sociable.

The two men turned and looked blankly at him.

“I mean, all the members of this house have a Christian name starting with a J. What happens when something comes addressed to J. Williams? Who gets to open it?”

The Williams looked at each other, shrugged and went back to staring at the TV.

The two mothers came back, followed by Jocelyn wearing a shiny, pink, low cut strapless dress. She looked so different and sophisticated to how David was used to seeing her.

“Hi,” Jocelyn said.

“Hi. You look, er . . . lovely,” stammered David.

“What’s that?” smiled Jocelyn, pointing to the spray in David’s hand.

“It’s for you,” he answered thrusting it towards her.

“Aren’t you going to pin it on me?” she said still smiling.

David moved towards her, then his face went red with embarrassment when he realised where the only place it could go.

“I’ll do it,” said Mrs Williams taking hold of the spray. Jocelyn kept smiling at David while her mother did the pinning.

“Okay, we’re off,” Jocelyn announced.

“Bye dear,” said Mrs Williams as she gave Jocelyn a peck on the cheek.

“Have a good time luv,” said her dad.

“Behave yourself sis,” said her brother.

Neither men turned away from the TV.

. . .

When they got to the ball David and Jocelyn moved over to the booths where David’s cricket friends had gathered. There was a bit of small talk, the ladies complimenting each other on their dresses.

The band started to play. It was the first waltz and the headmaster and his wife took to the floor. They did a circle of the dance floor then a few more couples joined in. The dancers were all teachers or parents, none of the students had the nerve to join in yet.

David looked across the room and saw Leanne with a group of friends. She noticed David and returned his gaze.

“Excuse me,” said David without averting his eyes from Leanne.

He walked across the dance floor straight to Leanne. He held out his left arm, palm upwards, towards her. She put her hand on his and David backed out on to the dance floor. Leanne did a pirouette, finishing with a little curtsy, and they took their dance positions. David stood motionless for quite a few seconds.

“Something the matter?” asked Leanne.

“Remind me. Which is my left foot again?” he asked.

She giggled and playfully kicked him in the shins.

“That one.”

“Thanks. We’re even now,” he said.

They started to dance. Really dance. As the adults on the floor shuffled around the perimeter, David and Leanne glided across, corner to corner, turning, dipping and making sudden changes in direction. The other dancers watched and moved out the way if they came close. Everyone on the side stopped what they were doing to look at them.

“Smile David,” said Leanne, “people are watching you.”

“I think it’s you they’re looking at,” he said.

“Did you make the basketball team?” she asked.

“Didn’t try. A better option came up.”

They danced on till the music stopped. People clapped. Not just for the band.

David walked Leanne back to her friends.

“Thank you, David. You’ve made my day.”

“The pleasure was all mine, believe me,” he replied.

“You’re wonderful,” she said. She squeezed his hand and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Now go back to Jocelyn and show her some of your moves.”

David walked back to Jocelyn and his friends.

“What was all that about?” asked Jocelyn.

“I’m sorry, I should have told you. I promised the first waltz to my dance teacher,” he said.

“Leanne taught you to dance?”

“Didn’t want to ask you to the ball if I couldn’t dance,” he said.

“David, you amaze me. So that was what you were up to on Sunday nights?”

The band started to play.

“Come on, show me what you can do,” he said grabbing Jocelyn’s hand.

Short Story about Short Stories

After my initial burst of inspiration when I joined the writing programme things have not gone too well. The first story I wrote (Batting at Number Ten) I was reasonably pleased with. Not so much the writing, but the story itself. Seven out of Ten.

I followed that up with a road crash story. Man is only eyewitness to a fatal car crash. Driver who caused accident is his wife’s best friend. The innocent driver is an unlicensed, Polynesian overstayer. He dies from his injuries. Lots of angst. When it came to the legal angle I got lost, so bailed out with an unsatisfactory ending. The main character in the story is the father of Jack, the hero in Batting at Number Ten. I’m trying to keep a thread going here. Five out of Ten.

Third story was a disaster from start to finish. Middle aged man (if 44 is middle aged) walks out on his wife. Meets up with two brothers. They go fishing. Wife comes and takes errant husband home. Decided not to make any character related to anyone else in my stories. One out of Ten.

Next story a little better. Young lady goes missing in central North Island town. Foul play suspected. Boyfriend (brother of Jack in first story) immediately becomes a suspect. He has no alibi as he was training for a triathlon out in the countryside the day girlfriend goes missing. The victim’s boss has a secret fetish he wants no-one, especially his wife, to know about. I ended the story with a throw-away line one of the characters utters which reveals the murderer. After Jenny read the story I asked her what did she think.

“About what?”

“The ending.”

“What about the ending?”

“If I have to explain it, it didn’t work.”

What I thought was going to be a Six-and-a-half ended up a Four.

I’ve just finished another story. This one I found to be the hardest to write. Mainly because I started with a beginning, but hadn’t worked out the middle or ending. I kept adding characters as I went along, then it became too complicated, so I re-arranged it as mini-stories as viewed from the perspectives of the three main characters. It’s about a school-teacher who tries to resurrect the school debating club. Seven students join, but two drop out after a short while. The inter-schools debating competition is about to start and there’s only four in a team. Tracy, the attractive, articulate and popular girl is the obvious choice for captain. There’s a Korean boy and a Chinese girl who are both very clever. That leaves one place between David, the shy, average student and Jocelyn, who only joined the club because she has a crush on David and wants him to ask her to the school ball. David improves his debating skills, but not his worldy nous of the wiles of girls, and Jocelyn, with the teacher’s encouragement, realises she does have a brain and begins to take the debating seriously. There’s another girl, Leanne, one of the ones who dropped out of the club, who is extremely talented in another field. She offers to educated David in this in after school hours.

The team make the finals of the debating competition, but there is drama on the night. Tracy was being driven by her mother to the venue when her mother runs a red light and causes an accident which leads to the death of the Polynesian overstayer in the other vehicle. That thread again.

David does take Jocelyn to the school ball, but what he and Leanne got up to has the whole school talking!

This story has the potential to be a Seven, but it’s a bit long and I can’t think of a good final line. Perhaps you could help. The scene is the school ball and the band starts to play rock and roll music. David grabs Jocelyn’s hand and says “Let’s . . . dance? . . . boogie? . . . get down and funky? . . .” What do young people say these days?

Crossroad 4

The final of our ripping yarn. Ian is about to go fishing and Samantha is on her way to see him. What will happen? Will he catch anything? Will he make up with his wife? Read on . . .

Next morning the brothers Coyne and Ian went off to fish for trout. Ian assumed they’d be fishing in the lake, but they drove to the Tongariro River which runs into the lake. Stopping first for Ian to pick a licence.

He was given some basic lessons on casting. The brothers had waders and stood in the water. Ian had to fish from the bank. They made casting look so easy. Just a flick of the wrist and the lure flew to where they wanted it. Ian made a real mess of it to begin with but after a while got the knack. Not as good as the Coynes, but enough to get by.

They fished for a couple of hours with no luck, then stopped and had tea from a thermos and a biscuit.

They were keen to get back fishing again, and Ian said he’d just sit on the bank and watch for a while. It was so quiet and peaceful there, he just lay back and dozed. He thought about Samantha and their conversation last night. Was he really so wrong about her? Did she still love him? Did he really invent the affair he thought she was having because he was disappointed with his life?

“Hey, wakey wakey. Time for lunch.” Steve woke him.

“Sorry, I was daydreaming. Did you catch anything?”

“You were asleep. No, we haven’t caught anything, but there’s a couple swimming around. One a real beauty. We’ll try for him after we’ve had a bite to eat.”

They came well prepared. Sandwiches, cake and some fruit.

“The motel do this for us. Part of the deal,” said Joe.

“What do you think of it so far?” asked Steve,

“Well, it’s interesting, but not the world’s greatest spectator sport,” Ian replied.

“We got that impression,” he replied.

They ate in silence for a while, then Steve and Joe talked for a bit about flies and colours they might change to for the afternoon. They decided to fish downstream and wet fly using Parson’s Glory or Red Setter. All Greek to Ian.

“So,” said Joe, “have you made any plans? What you want to do and where you want to go, that sort of thing.”

“I phoned my wife last night. She’s coming up, should arrive around five-ish. She wants to talk.”

“That’s a start. Talking never hurt anyone and it’s solved a lot of problems.”

“Well, I might have been a bit rash in leaving the way I did. But I still feel I need a change. I’ll see what she has to say.”

“Good on you. Want to give the trout fishing another go?”

“Why not. What else have I got on this afternoon?”

“That’s the spirit. You can take this spot here. Try and cast just past that rock, that’s where we saw the big one. Steve and me’ll move upstream a bit in case it moves. Good luck.”

So Ian spent the next hour or so, mindlessly casting and reeling in the line, casting again and reeling it in again. Surprisingly, it felt really good and relaxing. He could see why the guys enjoyed it. Then he saw it. A big trout. It came to the surface less than a metre away from where he had been casting.

He got so excited. Ian aimed his next cast towards where he’d seen it, but missed by miles. Damn! He tried again. Closer, but still a bit away.

Then Steve and Joe came along the bank.

“Time to call it a day,” said Steve.

“I’ve seen the big one. Just give me a few more minutes.”

“Where?” they shouted in unison.

“Over there. Look, there it goes again!”

“Yeah, you’re right. Try and cast a bit more to the right and let it trail across in front of it,” coaxed Joe.

Ian tried, but missed again. He tried again and this time hit the mark. As he flicked the rod back he felt a pull on the line.

“I’ve got it! I’ve got it!”

“Not yet,” said Joe. “You still have a lot of work to do still. Don’t try and reel it in all at once. Do it slowly, a bit at a time. Let it run a bit, then pull it in a bit more.”

Joe and Steve stood either side of Ian and advised when to reel in, when to let it run, etc. It took a while, but eventually it was right up close and Steve got the net and lifted it out of the water.

“Wow, yeah!” Ian said. “What happens now? Do we keep it? Do we let it go? Can you take a photo of it? Have you got a camera? I haven’t, I forgot to bring mine.” He was really running off at the mouth. Ian didn’t think he’d ever been that excited before.

“Your first trout?” laconic Joe asked.

“My first fish ever. Oh, sorry. I am going on a bit.”

“Understandable. It’s up to you what you want to do with it. But seeing as it’s your first, I suggest you keep it. If you don’t like the taste you can release any more you catch from now on.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. You two will have to help me eat it though. We’ll have it tonight.”

“Thanks for the offer,” Joe said, “but it’s not that big. It won’t feed four.”

“Four?”

“You said your wife was coming up today. Bottle of Sauvignon Blanc will go well with it.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll have to get you guys to show me how to prepare and cook it though.”

“Sure, no worries. We’ll go back to the motel, I’ll take a couple of pictures of you with it, clean it up then show you the best way to cook it. There’s a barbeque at the motel you can use,” said Steve.

“Great. I can’t thank you guys enough. By the way, I almost forgot, did you catch any?”

“We were hoping you’d never ask.”

“Never mind, with a bit more practice I’m sure you’ll get better at it.”

“Have you ever been slapped with a wet fish?”

. . .

Sam arrived just after 5.30. Ian booked her in at the office and after she’d had a shower they sat out the back of the motel by the barbeque area. Ian poured her a glass of wine and they started to talk.

“Nice drive up?” Ian asked.

“Can’t remember. It was a bit of a blur.”

“Sorry to put you through that. It was my fault.”

“I had to come. Couldn’t let you just walk out of my life without knowing why.”

“I thought I was doing you a favour.”

“You obviously are mixed up. What made you think that and who did you think I was having an affair with?”

“I had no idea. I probably made it up to excuse my own selfish behaviour. Not selfish, just self-centred. Same thing I suppose.”

“Well, yes. You have been a bit quiet and distant recently. For a while I thought you were sick and didn’t want to discuss it with me. Men can be like that.”

“No, not physically sick. Just . . . I don’t know, dissatisfied with myself. Never ever achieved anything even though I had plenty of opportunities.”

“Was it because we didn’t have children?”

“No, I haven’t thought about that, not consciously anyway. You? Did you want children?”

“I’d sort of given up the idea of having children. Thought if I didn’t have any by now then it was not to be. Never know though, I probably have a couple more child-bearing years in me.”

They sat quietly for a while. There was still some heat in the sun and it was so peaceful.

“Guess I had better put the fish on the barbeque now. Ever eaten trout before?” Ian asked.

“No.”

“Me neither. Guess we’re both about to eat the best cooked trout we’ve ever tasted.”

“You haven’t told me how you came to be fishing. And not only that, catching a trout. I believe that’s not too easy.”

“I’m a natural.”

“Like you were at rugby?”

“No, I was just kidding. It was pure beginner’s luck.”

Ian told her about the Coyne brothers, how they had given him the lift and suggested he stay here then took him fishing.

“Sounds like a couple of nice guys. You were lucky to have them pick you up.”

“Maybe you’ll get to meet them later.”

The trout was a success. They both loved the taste.

“Hopefully this won’t be our last trout,” said Sam.

“No, I’d like to go fishing again. Although I might not be so lucky next time. We’ll see.”

They sat outside finishing the wine till it got dark.

“What now?” asked Sam.

“If it’s okay with you, we should go to bed and tomorrow I’ll drive us home.”

“That’s the best proposition I’ve had in a long time,” she said.

THE END

Coming soon to this blog page the start of another serial. This time about an athlete, his disappearing girlfriend and her boss with a secret he wants no-one to know about!

Writers and Beards

I’ve had my first rejection slip. Quite proud of it actually. It came by email, so I printed it out and have put it in my folder along with my short stories (five finished and one half way through).

I entered, at Jenny’s prompting, a short story writing competition. The works submitted have to be unpublished which I misread as the authors having to be unpublished. It’s called The Six Pack and, as the name indicates, six are chosen by the judges and a book printed. The prize for being selected is $5000 (I went around for a few weeks dreaming of a new computer or 40in TV I’d spend the money on). It is an annual event in its third year.

After sending off my “Batting at 10″ story I went for a walk up to Whitcoulls to see if they had a copy of last year’s edition to check out the standard of writing I was up against. After much searching I found one in the ‘25% off’ bin. Instead of $6 I only had to pay $4.50!

It was very impressive with authors like Charlotte Grimshaw, Elizabeth Smither and Faith Oxenbridge to name but three. I was up against tough opposition, but in my favour was that the entries are judged without the author’s name on the story. Cream will rise, I thought.

Then came the rejection slip. I didn’t make the final six, but as there was over 500 entries I wasn’t the only one who missed out.

I got out a library book of short stories by a guy called Yann Martel. I’d never heard of him before, but I liked his writing. On the dust jacket bio it said when he started writing he had 19 rejection slips before he had a story accepted for publication, then went to on win the Mann Booker prize.

I haven’t any new photos to show you but here’s one of Lee taken when she was in Singapore recently.

Back to writing. I went to a seminar at Botany Library by a group called PublishMe. It’s a company which helps budding writers get published and they seem genuine and a relatively cheap way to get your work out there. It is cheap because the author does most of the work. PublishMe provide software support for jacket design, page layout etc. Each member has a client manager they can ring for advice. They also do the printing (minimum print run 1 – I asked) and will store and distribute your books, plus they have some innovate ways of selling and they will take your work to book fairs if they think there is a market out there.

Not for me at the moment and I think it is for niche audiences, but I came away with a booklet and free DVD and I got to join for free. After the sales spiel, they introduced three of their successful clients. Two were bearded, the third was a woman. Maybe I’ll grow a beard.

The woman is a clairvoyant and now sells her book not only in NZ but also in Australia and the US. One of the men spent his working life in the navy and wrote of his experiences for his family. He has now written three non-fiction naval books and sells them through yacht clubs, shipchandlers etc. The other guy was an investment adviser who had to retire early due to ill health and wrote a book on saving, investing etc.

Crossroad-3

Continuing our exclusive serial. Last episode found Ian in Turangi and preparing to go fishing with his two new friends. But what was happening back in Wellington? Now read on…

Samantha was showered, had breakfast and dressed and ready for work by 7.30 that Wednesday morning. She had a busy day ahead of her and Ian’s moody behaviour was a distraction she could do without. “What’s wrong with the man?” she kept asking herself. She was sure he’d come to his senses eventually, but it was very tiresome. If only he’d tell her what the problem was.

She left for work while he was in the shower. The office was a short drive from their apartment and she liked to get there early and get the paperwork done before she started working the phone, setting up meetings, seeing prospective clients and taking people round to view properties. She had been hard at work for a few hours when she realised one of the contracts she needed the vendor to sign had been left on her bedside table.

“Bugger,” she thought. “I’ll give Ian a call, ask him to drop it off for me.”

There was no reply at the apartment. That’s funny, she thought, Ian has Wednesdays off and recently he has seldom left the house. She tried his cellphone but it was switched off.

So she had to go back to the apartment to pick it up. The contract was where she had left it. No sign of Ian. “I wonder where he’s gone to? He could at least have made the bed before he went out,” she thought.

She was just going out the front door when an envelope on the coffee table caught her eye. She walked back to look at it. It had her name scrawled across the front in Ian’s handwriting. Why is he writing me a note, she wondered.

She ripped the envelope open and read the note. She stared at it for a long time, then sat down and read it again.

Samantha,

I’ve decided to leave and ‘find myself’ as they say. I’m sorry I’ve been a disappointment to you. You deserve better. Don’t try to find me. I don’t know where I’m going anyway.

Will be in touch when I get settled.

Ian

What the hell’s happened? She tried to think of a reason for him leaving. He hadn’t been very happy recently, but she didn’t know what was bugging him. Was it her fault? She tried to think of anything she might have said or done to bring this about. She’d been angry with him at times, she admitted, but that was because he was so bloody moody and quiet.

She rang his cellphone again and left a message. Then she sent him a text asking him to get in touch.

There was nothing she could do, she decided, until he got back to her. She went back to the office and tried to concentrate on her work. It was a long day but managed to get through it. She rang Ian twice more, still no response, then sent another text.

Back home she paced up and down, looking at the phone. Ring, damn you, her head screamed. Eventually a text message. She grabbed her cellphone and read it.

“He’s going out to dinner! He’s going out to bloody dinner before he wants to talk to me! Doesn’t he realise what I’m going through?” She threw the phone down on the settee. “Damn you Ian Wright.”

It was a long wait before he rang.

. . .

Ian had a good night out with the brothers. They went to the local RSA. The Coynes obviously had been before. The ambiance of the place was great for three men on their own. They were joined by some locals and talked rugby. Steve went on about how great Ian could have been and some of the locals remembered his name. All beer talk, but very pleasing for the ego, and he accepted their praise with a modest grin.

They then went to an Italian restaurant for a meal. Ian asked them how long they’d been trout fishing and how many were they expecting to catch.

“We’ve had the trout fishing bug for about six or seven years now,” said Joe. “As for how many we expect to catch, the answer has to be none. It’s not about catching the fish, it’s about the fishing. If we get one we look on that as a bonus.”

Steve took over. “You can’t explain it. You try it and either you catch the bug or you don’t. To a non-fisherman it looks like a long, boring way to spend a day, especially if you come up empty-handed, which happens fairly often.”

“All I can say is you two are very lucky. I can’t think of anything I’m that passionate about. And I don’t think too many other people are either.”

“Well, if you’re in no hurry to go somewhere tomorrow, why don’t you join us? We’ve a spare rod and you can pick up a licence at the store in the morning,” said Joe.

“Why not,” Ian said. “What have I got to lose? Thanks for the offer.”

After that, Ian said he was paying for the meals. They objected, but he insisted.

“It’s the least I can do after your generosity,” he said.

Back at the motel Ian switched on the mobile phone. No more messages. He sat looking it for a few minutes, then took a deep breath and phoned Samantha.

“Where the hell are you,” she yelled after one ring. “And what’s this note you left me all about? You’re going off to find yourself? What the hell does that mean? When did you lose yourself? Hello, are you there?”

“Are you quite finished?” he said very quietly.

“Are you all right? Is something wrong with you?”

“I’m fine. One question at a time, ok?”

“OK. I’m sorry I yelled. You’ve given me one helluva scare. I’ve been half out of my mind all day. Where are you?”

“Turangi.”

“Turangi? What the hell are you doing there?”

“Sitting in a motel room. Tomorrow I’m going trout fishing with a couple of blokes.”

“Fishing? Have you ever been fishing before?”

“Nope.”

“What’s this all about? How did you get to Turangi?”

“Hitched.”

“At your age? Did you get any rides?”

“Yes.”

“Ian, talk to me. What’s this really all about?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You and your boyfriend. And me. Me and my dead end jobs.”

“My boyfriend? What boyfriend? Who are you talking about? I don’t understand.”

“Don’t deny it. You’re obviously having an affair. I’ve known for months now.”

“Ian, the only two things I love are you and my job, in that order. I admit I’ve been spending a lot of time at work. One, because it’s a busy period and we’re short handed; and two, you haven’t been the greatest of company recently. And as for your dead end jobs. You chose them. We were a good team once. What changed you?”

“I don’t know. I thought you’d grown sick of me. Are you really not having an affair?”

“No, of course not. Look, I’ve had one bad marriage I was glad to get out of. I thought I had a good one with you. I was just waiting for you to pull yourself together. You just seemed to have lost interest in everything.”

“God, I’ve ruined things, haven’t I? When something good happens to me I muck it up. I’m sorry. I don’t know anything any more.”

“Look, stay where you are. I’ll drive up tomorrow and we’ll talk about this. I’m sure we can work something out. What’s the name of the motel you’re staying at and how do I find it?”

Ian told her and she said she’d have to delegate some of her work at the office in the morning first and be in Turangi by late afternoon.

“Don’t do anything stupid till I get there,” was her closing remark.

Keep logging in for the final episode of this exciting drama coming soon to a desktop near you!